Espionage
by PrincessIxi
Summary: Destiny has many paths. Sometimes it leads to wearing a dress. Hunters of the Dusk AU


**Title** Espionage

**Rating **PG-13

**Warnings **Cross Dressing

**Category **The Saga of Darren Shan

**Pairing **/

**Summary **Destiny has many paths. Sometimes it leads to wearing a dress.

**Author's Note **Espionage- being a double agent. Inspired when I read "Genius Squad". And yes. Steve and Darren are _just that stupid_.

**Disclaimer **I don't own Master Shan's characters. Spoilers from books 1-7, AU to first encounter with the Lord of the Vampaneze.

**

* * *

**

Darren can't believe Mr Crepsley has agreed to this. He's _supposed _to be his mentor, _not _some kind of pimp.

Harkat and Evra- his so called _friends _– haven't stopped sniggering and leering ever since Vancha had flitted into the camp grounds, excitedly waving the accursed letter about his head. If Darren could, he would be on the men in a heartbeat and punch some respect into them- but he's in the middle of a manicure right now.

The half-vampire has never believed that the vampire gods- heck _destiny _even_- _have ever been on his side.

Women certainly have never been on his side. Evanna, Merla and Truska have in fact _encouraged _this so called 'ingenious' plan of Vancha's and Mr Crespley's. Apart from encouraging, they are enjoying this far too much, as Truska whistles a strange tune while using a needle and thread to stitch black, corkscrew hair extensions through his natural ones. Darren is quite sure this _isn't _how you put hair extensions in, but Evanna tells him the thread binds any two objects together then disappears like nothing is even there. So it would take a pretty forceful tug to part them, making this safer than a wig.

As Darren stands before the full length mirror in Truska's tent, he doesn't even recognise himself.

His hair is long and coiled and would be waist length but it has been pinned up elegantly, and Darren's never really liked long hair, and only remembers it ever being this long when he suffered under the purge. It itches his scalp like crazy, and Merla slaps his hands away when he scratches at his head. Hopefully he'll grow used to it before long. He's the cleanest he's ever felt in his life, long nails trimmed and shaped, painted scarlet and his face is the biggest scare of all. Darren's green cat eyes have been covered up with blue contacts, flecked with red, and thick kohl lines his eyes and lashes. He's surprised he can smile without causing all the purple tinged makeup to crack. Everything is profusely over the top, but it's superfluous he isn't found out, for not just being male, but more importantly as a half-vampire.

Darren tilts his head this way and that, surprised at the woman's work. He'd date himself if he could.

"Alright Darren," Evanna is behind him, holding a coat hanger with something shimmery and red clinging to it. "Put this on."

Darren's heart sinks when he sees the dress.

He tries to tell himself that he's a vampire Prince, he's walked over flames and killed mad bears- this is nothing. Still, this doesn't stop the uncomfortable sweat that breaks out as he takes the coat hanger from the witch, and it's almost as bad as when he'd stubbornly refused to drink blood. Darren unbuttons his blouse- Merla would have skinned him raw if he had messed his hair up with a pull up shirt- and kicks his jeans to one side stepping into the foreign material. For a second he's worried the hem will burst when it passes over his hips and chest- dresses weren't made for well developed men- but Truska's an expert sewer, and nothing pops out of place.

The person who smirks back from the mirror looks the furthest thing from a woman. Darren thinks' he looks like a drag queen who has no idea what's he's doing. This comes as something of a relief. He might have passed in his ordinary clothes as an underdeveloped girl, but the restricting dress shows his muscles and he's never been particular effeminate to begin with. "Sorry ladies," he glances smugly at the women, who are frowning at their slowly crumbling master piece. That is everyone except for Evanna. She looks hard at Darren, and the half-vampire recognises that looks. The look of a spell caster.

Merla and Truska both squeal suddenly, in surprise and glee. Darren spins around, and thinks he's about to pass out. If he had a twin sister, Darren it sure this is what she would look like. Because suddenly he's sporting the full figure of a woman, curves and all. Darren yelps, putting his fingers to his chest and is even more surprised when his nails pass through the breasts like they don't exist.

"They don't, Darren. I've merely enchanted the dress so that whoever wears it will have the body of a woman. However it's just an illusion. Just doesn't take the dress off, or the spell will break completely. Or let anyone touch you in those specific areas."

"Like I was planning on it," Darren hisses indignantly, crossing his arms awkwardly.

The tent flap opens, and what feels like the whole of the Cirque pours into the small space. Erva smirks and drops a lewd comment, Harkat wheezing that he looks nice. Vancha looks very pleased with himself and those few who are unaware of Evanna's powers are simply amazed at the changed. However Darren only notices the stranger at the front of the pack. His hair is black and in his blood red eyes, skin a healthy violet tinge of a full vampaneze. He wears a black tux, cape clasped over one shoulder and lined deep blue. He takes one of Darren's hands, bows and grins like a wolf.

"You looked lovely, Diana."

"Such a flatterer," Darren simpers, though masks his amazement at Mr Crepsley's transformation. It's mostly the absent of ugly scar and ginger hair. "Lyren. . C_harna's guts _I can't do it. It's too obvious. No. _Ridiculous._"

The smile drops and the scowl that beams through is so Mr Crepsley. "You think I enjoy this too? You know why we have to do this, so suck it up."

Darren wriggles in discomfort and pulls his hand out of the vampire's grasp. He doesn't look his mentor in the eye. "Why me? Why not Evanna?"

"You know the rules, Darren. Only those who've been chosen can face the Lord of the Vampaneze," Evanna grins, eyes gleaming. She thinks this is the best thing she's seen in all her years of living.

"Why do I have to be a girl then?" Darren pouts angrily, something that doesn't come off as angrily as he'd hoped with a woman's visage.

"Because I'm sure the Lord would rather have a pretty girl batting her eyelids at him than an ugly boy like yourself. However I have been wrong before. Preference can change, and have, when you're surrounded by men day in and out. Anyway. It's not just that, Darren," Evanna raises her bushy eyebrows in meaning. "But I'm sure the vampaneze will be suspecting an attempt on their Lord's life, and no doubt they know of you."

"What's so special about me?"

"Nothing," she smiles. "But word would of spread to all ears about a young half-vampire. _Male_ half-vampire mind. The more though roughly we protect you, the more chance you have of fooling them."

Darren can't really argue his case against all that. So he settles for simply crossing his arms huffily again. The witch looks between mentor and apprentice, and curls her lips in a smirk.

"Now, you two need to be _convincing_ as a couple, not be jumping down each other's throats the entire night."

"We _are_ convincing," Darren snarls, head whipping back up to glare at Evanna, determined to prove the witch wrong- who no doubt thinks the pair of them will fail miserable and get cut down by the vampaneze even before they are through the door. "Come on."

Sticking his nose in the air, Darren grabs Mr Crepsley's hand and marches them out of the tent.

"Certainly moody like a woman," Evra grumbles, and Merla grabs a pair of four inches heels and runs after them.

* * *

It seems the entire point of the grand ball is to toast the arrival of the Lord of the Vampaneze. Vampaneze enjoy rituals, and something like a formal ball and drinks was too good not to pass up. It was blind luck that Vancha happened across a vampet who was carrying an invite around in his pocket.

The Lord is going to be there in person. And the Prince knew this wasn't a chance to give up. Clearly, this is the first of the four meetings Mr Tiny had predicted. But it's all very well to have an invite for two, it was how they are going to get information, then assassinate the Lord which was the problem.

Obviously, the two of the destined three would have to disguise themselves as young vampaneze and infiltrate the party. The cover story was that a young woman, Diana, had fallen in love with a vampaneze called Lyren. And so the vampaneze had blooded her so they could be together. Short and simply, and hopefully they wouldn't be asked anyway.

And Darren is going to be the bait.

It is surprisingly easy to walk in high heels. Darren suspects its reciprocation from all that time practising on the high beam with Arra. Mr Crepsley has flitted them to the location marked on the map at the back of the invitation. The castle is gothic, Dracula even, settled on top of a hill covered in forest pine. Darren expects a vampire bat to flap into the full moon that shrouds the castle in its eerie glow. Darren feels far to dressed up as Mr Crepsley sets him down, and he stares up at the formidable walls.

"Into the lion's den," the vampire grins at him, and Darren smiles nervously back. Taking his arm, they walk up the weed ridden path and to the doors that are disproportionally large. To Darren's relief, the vampets who guard the entrance look just as slick as they do. Seems that even vampaneze can dress up when the occasion calls for it.

They are hardly older than he is. And they stare at Darren like he's a raw steak.

Darren clutches Mr Crepsley's arm tighter, half hiding behind him, and doesn't even have to act in character for this. At least he's passed the test for fooling mere humans. How will the demons of the night fair?

Mr Crepsley flashes the invitation at the vampets, and they open the doors for them.

Inside is a treat. The entrance is lit up entirely by flames in brackets, giving the castle an almost cosy feel, despite the cobwebs and broken windows. Above them is a chandelier, alit with hundreds of flaming candles. Darren murmurs appropriately, recalling how his mother would gasp and 'ooh' at their friends new furnishings when invited over to their house. Before them is a red, moth eaten carpet, that leads up a flight of stairs. Darren looks curiously up them, but he's being pulled to the right, where he can hear the roar of hundreds of voices behind a second pair of doors.

This is obviously where the heart of the party will be held. More brightly lit than the entrance hall, great black wall hangings cover up the dirty stone plaster, giving the illusion that the castle is newer than it looks. There is a balcony running along the far wall, and another set of stairs lead up to it. Darren spies other woman, but the men greatly outnumber them. Its common knowledge that hardly any women are blooded to become a vampires and it must be the same for vampaneze too. However Darren suspects most of these woman are the female version of vampets, for he spies the tell tale scratches on the women's faces that make them out as victims, but perhaps their predators have decided they have a better use for them rather than as a tasty snack.

"Let's dance," Mr Crepsley suggests, as a means of wriggling out of talking to any keen eyed vampaneze until their Lord arrived.

"You're using abbreviations," Darren says in surprise, finally pegging to why his mentor sounds so different. He's been meaning to ask where Mr Crepsley was born, because he doesn't have an Irish accent, something Darren has grown up with but lost over the years of travelling with the vampire. Mr Crepsley just smiles at him, in a way that tells him it's all just part of the act. Lyren doesn't use proper English.

Lyren can dance to, which also comes as a surprise, because Darren is half expecting that horrible, robotic twitch that the vampires at the Mountain favour. He tells Mr Crepsley this.

"Give me a little more credit. I haven't been living under a rock for two hundred years. I know how to dance 'normally'. In fact I know how to do a lot of things that might surprise you, Diana," he laughs at the wry expression his companion gives him as they rock to the slow beat.

Darren's impressed with the band to. It's actually a _band_, with a bass and everything. He's amazed that vampaneze have any musical taste in their murderous blood. It's hard to tell at this distance, but perhaps they are vampets performing.

"When do you think the Lord will come out?" Darren asks, conscious of the many bodies around them both, most dancing, some standing in circles to chat and drink wine and human blood. Feels like a normal human party almost. He almost forgets he's in enemy territory.

"Soon, I suspect," the vampire glances casual around. "He will come from those stairs over there. He'll be announced after the last guest arrives. Which should be soon because this hall can't hold many more. But before that, you need to fix your voice," he adds, the last word in an undertone, and brushes a few strands of Darren's long hair behind his ear to distract anyone who might have been listening and making them think he was talking about Darren's hair.

"What's wrong with it?" Darren asks, touching his tightly curled hair and playing along.

"It's should be softer," as if saying the curls should have dropped some more. Darren pouts as if offended by his date's poor fashion sense. Although his is right. His voice, that is. Not the hair. The hair is perfect. After the purge, his eleven year old body had shifted to that of a late teenager, and his voice had broken. "Just think about something you desire," they've shifted away from the group of vampaneze and vampets they had been around, and Mr Crepsley deems it safe to be less than subtle.

Darren gazes at the vampire who's locked his hands around his waist and smirks at the irony. "Easy," he purrs, and his voice is still deep but he manages to pass it off as being femininely husky. Satisfied with his assistant, Mr Crepsley examines the crowd over the top of Darren's head. Nobody has challenged them for being vampires yet, but Darren it causing a large amount of not entirely unwanted attention. Most of the other women are still human, small and fragile, obviously having been dined on by their masters on regular occasions. Darren appears to be the only healthy looking 'woman' and also the only vampaneze 'woman' in the room. You'd think the men had never laid eyes on someone of the opposite gender before with all the glances shot their way. Perfect.

The music grinds to a halt, and they applaud politely. Then all eyes are on the stairs, and a vampaneze in a simple black suit descends, and Darren waits for the announcement. But it never comes.

"Greetings my subjects," the man smiles, opening his arms to them all. Darren stiffens and Mr Crepsley squeezes his waist in warning. "I'm so glad you have all arrived safely."

This is the Lord of the Vampaneze.

_This _is the Lord of the Vampaneze?

Darren hadn't been sure what to expect, but certainly wasn't this. The vampaneze is ordinary looking, with short brown hair and a pale face with high cheek bones. He's not even dressed flamboyantly. The only oddity about him is that he walks with a limp in his right leg and a light scars run through his left eye and over the bridge of his nose, ruining what might have been a handsome face.

From the stairs above, three men flank their Lord. One is built like an exotic cat, with long black hair knotted at the base of his scalp, and his large eyes are somewhat familiar, but Darren can't quite place him. The second is large like the bodyguards you see in cheap gangster movies, and doesn't look too bright. The last appears to be a few years older than himself, holding himself like a typical teenager and sporting prematurely silver hair. It looks like he doesn't want to be here.

He talks some more, but Darren has lost interest, eyeing up the three guards. If it came down to a fight, he'd be more worried about the long haired vampire, who seems to know what he's doing rather than tubby in the middle. Darren ignored the boy, whose yawning with disinterest. Each of them are subtly racking their eyes over the crowd, seeing if they can pick out a traitor in their midst. As the boy glances his way, Darren drops his eyes to the floor, suddenly weary and unsure where the feeling has come from.

But Darren needs to focus purely on the task ahead.

Assassinating the Lord of the Vampaneze.

When the speech finishes, Darren finds himself at the make shift bar. A counter top has been dragged in from somewhere, and behind it are barrels full of wine and blood. Darren sits on one of the stools, nursing a glass full of white wine. He's never been a fan, and it stings when it slides down his throat. A few vampaneze have offered to buy him drinks, but each time he declines them with a sweet smile and shake of his head. He's only waiting for one person after all.

The half-vampire adjusts himself on his seat, glancing casually around. With all the pressing noise and smells around him, it's hard to pin point where Mr Crepsley is, and the absence of bright orange hair makes it harder too. The old vampire has left him to scout around for information. And to let him get on with his job.

A flash of grey hair catches his eye, and Darren's heart quickens, knowing that the Lord can't be far behind one of his bodyguards. And sure enough, as the crowd parts to let the sombre eyed boy through, Darren catches a glimpse of his Lord just behind him. Just in time too, for Darren has finally gulped down the rest of the vile alcohol. He's paused briefly to talk to another vampaneze.

And the boy continues onwards, eyes fixed on his face, making Darren's smile slip. Great. Very rudely, from an onlookers perspective, Darren swivels in his set, giving the boy a very obvious, and deliberate cold shoulder.

Instead of putting him off, it seems to _encourage _him.

He feels an arm slip around his shoulder and a voice say in his ear.

"I'm surprised your mate has let you wander off by yourself."

Darren tries hard not to recoil at the smell of blood on his breath, noticing his right hand is covered in a protective glove. Swallowing the disgust at being touched and _breathed _upon by his enemy no less, Darren amiably smiles at him, removing his hand with a fore finger and thumb like he's picking up a dead rat by the tail. "With that attitude, one would think you've been keeping an eye on me."

The smile that sent at him is shocking, like the Wolf grinning at Little Red Riding Hood from the dark, and it reminds Darren of a distant memory. He shakes it off quickly. "Steffian," the vampaneze- Steffian- offers the gloved hand to him, and Darren looks at it wearily, then back up into his eager face.

"Diana. And I only shake the hands of those who I respect," Darren simpers unsympathetically, thinking of Arra, and how she was butchered by one of his younger half-vampaneze brothers. Steffian lifts his hands like Darren is raising a gun, eyebrows raised. "Excuse me," abruptly he stands, spotting Mr Crepsley in the crowd. He's mingling rather well with a group of laughing vampaneze. Darren latches onto his arm, pressing himself against the vampire and feeling the hot glare of Steffian on his back. He forces a smile.

Mr Crepsley introduces him to the small group, half the names go over Darren's head but he bobs politely at them, trying to looking engaged when really his mind is elsewhere.

"Surprised you let this one wonder around by herself, Lyren," a barrel chested vampaneze smirks-repeating what Steffian had just said ironically enough- at Mr Crepsley who laughs automatically slipping an arm around Darren. Darren feels a moment pity for woman, thinking none too highly of being spoken of like a pretty accessory. Taking advantage of the lull in conversation, Darren leans up and whispers quickly into Mr Crepsley's ear that he's getting unwanted attention- although the real intention of the message is to say that his mission is turning sour- eyes slipping to the right, picking out Steffian who's back beside his Lord.

"I see."

"What'd I tell you?" the same vampaneze fixs Mr Crepsley a knowing look. The vampire merely smiles thinly back, and walks Darren away from the group. Darren's look turns desperate, as he's told to go back over to the bar and attracted the body guard back. "He'll be a one way ticket into being introduced to the Lord. Take this though," Mr Crepsley hands him a ring with a fat sapphire imbedded on it. "It'll remind him where his place is," it takes a second for Darren to cotton on to what Mr Crepsley is getting at, and his face turns scarlet in outrage. He twists the ring viciously in his fingers a few times, before throwing it back at the vampire.

"Like _hell_," before storming off.

Darren knows he's blown his chance with the body guard, because it takes about five glasses before he finally comes back over. It takes a lot for a vampire to get drunk, but Darren isn't exactly a heavy weight. His smile is more natural when Steffian sidles up next to him and sits.

Darren gets straight to the point.

"What would I have to do to get in bed with the Vampanze Lord?" not meaning the literally sense. He's read and watched enough crime genres to know what he's talking about- or thinks he knows. Steffian nurses his drink thoughtfully.

"So that's what you want with me. Not much," he shrugs, smiling crudely at Darren.

"I think I'd need a few more drinks for that," Darren laughs, slipping a painted finger into his wine glass and stroking up the sides. The vampaneze lifts his mouth in an _it was worth a shot _kind of gesture. He watches Darren's fingers as he fishes out the speared olive in the dregs of his wine and pops it into his mouth. He looks away with a frown.

"Well then. . . Here he comes now, in fact," surprised, for he hadn't yet bribed the man, Steffian gets off the stool, and beckons the Lord over. Just out of ear shot, Steffian leans over and hisses something into his ear, making the Lord of the Vampaneze pause only briefly before smiling at Darren. "My Lord, this is Diana. She has been expressing great interest in meeting with you," Steffian introduces them. The Lord takes Darren's hand and kisses it fleetingly, making him wonder that shouldn't it be the other way around?

"A pleasure."

Darren just smiles charmingly, discreetly wiping the back of his hand on his seat to get rid of the foulness.

They talk. And despite the Lord sitting closer than strictly necessary, it's like chatting with an old friend. Darren turns the idle chat to politics. _Is he really willing to gamble the peace that they hold by a thread with the vampires? Shouldn't be settle the score diplomatically as they are a dying race? Does he plan a full out war, or attack in small units? _

The Lord answer is a slight chuckle, tapping Darren's nose coyly and saying that women shouldn't concern themselves with politics. All the while, a keen eyed Steffian watches them over his glass of blood.

"Come outside with me," the Lord offers, taking his glass with him. Steffian stands at once, but is waved down. "Only you," he tells Darren.

Out on the balcony, the full moon is sinking, being eaten up by the dark forest below them. Night is starting to turn into early morning. Darren puts his weight on his elbows, drink in hand. The moon beams turn his hair a rare silver.

"Did you remove me from the hall so nobody would over hear us?" Darren asks, but is started to suspect he's running out of time. The Vampaneze Lord coughs harshly into his fist.

"Even if I could, I would not answer you, my dear."

"Even if. . oh god," Darren leaps back at once, but the Lord has his wrists, exposing his hands, and there, on one finger, is the telltale sign of a vampire. His makeup had washed off when he had put his finger into the wine. . . and Steffian's eyes on his hands. Bugger.

But the Lord is no threat, because he coughs again, and his vomit is tinged with blood. "Are you sick, my Lord?" Darren asks without feeling, nose wrinkling as his feet are dosed. The vampaneze leans over the railings, dry heaving. He coughs the last of his breath out, and Darren sends him tumble over the edge.

He's still outside when Mr Crepsley finds him.

"Are you okay?" his mentor asks, sounding gentle as he touches Darren's back. "You almost had me going when you threw the ring back. But you took out the poison first, did you not?"

"He wasn't the Lord of the Vampaneze," Darren cuts around him, sounding beaten. "I doubt he was even close to him. He had no information. He was just a stupid subordinate, following orders."

". . oh Darren," Mr Crepsley sighs, running a hand through his artificially long hair. "I had suspected that this could be one of the few out comes-"

"You knew!" Darren all but shrieks, wanting to rip the fowl dress off but really that would solve nothing. He's never felt so played and humiliated in all his life. Especially when it doesn't even make sense. Did all the vampaneze here _know _this Lord was a fake? Had this all been one huge set up to try and catch the vampires? Or had the real Lord fooled everyone here? Did he only show his face to reassure all the vampaneze he was their protector and thinking about them? Darren feels the need to sit down and have another glass of wine.

"We had to be sure," Mr Crepsley frowns, a warning that his assistant should back down. "Perhaps they could have brought the Vampaneze Lord tonight. Or perhaps this was all a big set up to see if they could find traitors or vampire spies- such as we were- there were hundreds of paths that could have been taken tonight, and I for one am just thankful we both came away unharmed."

Darren deflates, knowing there is truth in Mr Crepsley confirming his own quiet speculations. "Very well. Now we can go back home and let everyone laugh at us," he smirks up at the vampire, kicking his vomit and blood stained high heels off and taking Mr Crepsley's arm playfully. "You looked very dapper tonight, Lyren."

"And you, very beautiful."

They both chuckle quietly as they make their way back to Cirque and to deliver the bad news, but not feeling like it had been a night wasted.

* * *

**-END**


End file.
